Thanksgiving, 1898
by Erikthephantom07
Summary: Thanksgiving is about giving thanks for the wonderful things you have. So what, in God’s name, does a newsie have to be thankful for?


**Thanksgiving, 1898**

**Thanksgiving is about giving thanks for the wonderful things you have. So what, in God's name, does a newsie have to be thankful for!**

**Ok, yeah, so I like writing little Holiday Newsie things… LET ME BE!**

"EXTRY EXTRY! GRAND CENTRAL STATION FLOODED!"

"Seriously, Cowboy?"

"Sure, read page eleven. EXTRY!"

Skittery, upon entering the Lodging House later that night, fell onto the sofa.

"What happened ta you?" Racetrack laughed upon taking in Skittery's black eye and various other bruises.

"Jack's stinkin' flood trick," he growled, running a hand gingerly over his arm. "Tried it near Brooklyn today. Nobody bought it."

"Ya gotta have my looks ta pull it off, too, Skitts," Jack shrugged with a wink in Blink's direction. "Didn' I tell ya dat part?"

"Shut it if ya wanna keep it, Cowboy," Skittery snarled. "Kid, gimme some ice, wouldja?"

Blink shrugged, opened the door to the Lodging House, and pelted the snow from the street outside at Skittery's face.

"WHAT DA-!"

"Ya wanted ice," Blink shrugged innocently.

"Why you…"

"Evenin, boys!" Kloppman called as he reentered from the back room. He was immediately assaulted with either a nickel or five pennies from everyone there. "One at a time! One at a time! How'm I s'pposed ta know who paid if I don' even know where da money's comin from?"

"Aw, c'mon, Klopp," Blink smiled, placing his five pennies on the counter. "Ya know we always pays."

"Not everyone," Kloppman responded with a raised eyebrow in Race's direction.

"What?"

"Next time ya preach about a hot tip I ain't listenin."

"Who does?" Mush muttered as he walked in, covered with snow.

"Weasel," Jack and Blink answered in unison.

"Ain't it perfect?" Race sighed contentedly. "I ain't paid for a pape in tree days!"

"Yeah, and now ya'll _really _owe 'im," Jack said matter of factly.

"I'll get it somehow. Skitts, ya wanna play some cards?"

Eventually, all the newsies present (even Racetrack) paid for their night. Moving to the upstairs bunkroom, a game of cards, as usual, was immediately set upon and, as usual, Race won by amazing odds, leaving Skittery staring dumbly at the empty table before him.

"I don' get it," he growled, glancing up at Race's pile of change. "How d'you manage to win _every time_ an I get nothin?"

"Easy," Race bragged as he collected from the other boys around the table. Most of the time, there were five or so players, and they changed each evening – except for Race and Skittery. Skittery was determined to beat Race at cards on day, but he only managed to lose more and more money. Sometimes Jack had to intervene to get Race to give Skittery some of his money back. "I'm jus' bettah den you, Skitts."

"Shut it, Race," Skittery warned, running a hand through his hair.

"Guess ya won' be sellin tamarrow, Skitts," Race grinned maliciously.

"Guess I won' be eatin tomorrow…" Skittery added under his breath.

"Aw cheer up, Skitts!" Blink laughed from his bunk, where he was animatedly telling some of the younger newsies of his most recent female conquest. "Tamorrow's Thanksgivin, an dere'll be so much food on da streets dat you'll think it's Christmas!"

"Dat don' make no sense, Kid," Jack rolled his eyes.

"Did ta me," he shrugged, winking his one eye at the small boys around him.

"I hate Thanksgivin," Skittery mumbled as he threw down his cards at last, finally submitting to the outcome of the game.

"Why?" Mush blinked, broken from his dream of his own female conquest.

"Nobody's out buyin papes an we all gets stuck doin nothing but starvin."

"C'mon, Skitts," the newsies groaned collectively.

"Ya don' gotta start actin like dis again," Snoddy called from his bunk. "Not on Thanksgiving."

"It ain' Thanksgivin an I can act howsever I want."

"Like I told ya," Race shook his head as he stacked his cards. "'Glum an dumb.'"

"Yeah, what else is new?" someone else muttered.

"Fahget it, kids, he's always like dis," Blink said, returning the younger newsies to his conversation.

Skittery climbed onto his bunk, facing the ceiling. For some reason, the newsies got almost as excited for Thanksgiving as they always did for Christmas. It had always been beyond Skittery's comprehension as to why, seeing as it just reminded them of how little they had. "What's da point a starin at food dat y'ain' gonna get," he muttered.

"What's dat?" Boots asked, maneuvering over to Skittery's bunk.

"Ignore 'im, Boots," Bumlets called. "He'll only depress ya further."

"Don' got nothin ta be thankful for anyways," Skittery added, pulling his sheets over his head.

"Now dat ain' true, Skitts."

"_Shut_ it, Crutchy, I don' wanna hear it from ya."

The rest of them, following the advice of the older newsies, left Skittery alone for the remainder of the night. Racetrack's philosophy, which all followed, was that the only way to allow Skittery to return to normal was to "steah cleah o' da bastard" or to slap him in the face, which none of them was too keen on.

Thanksgiving dawned bright and cold with a small layer of frost covering New York City. Surprisingly, for Kloppman at least, the newsies were up with the dawn.

"Good mornin' New York!" Blink cried as they pranced (literally) to the Distribution Center. Their infectious good mood rubbed off on even Weasel, who withheld his usual snide remarks.

"Mornin' Morris! Oscar!" Blink shouted to them as he took his papers, banging on the counter for emphasis.

"Shut up, Kid," Morris growled. Only he and Oscar were turned off by the good moods. Any sign of cheer from the newsies made them even angrier.

"Ya'll get yours, Kid," Oscar added in what was supposed to be an intimidating voice.

"My turkey? Much obliged, Oscar, ya payin'?"

"In yer dreams!"

Blink plopped on the cold stairs next to Race. "It is in my dreams, actually. Wouldn' ya be happy wit a nice piece a turkey righ' now?"

"Don' say it, Kid, ya'll only make it woise," he sighed, but a large smile remained on his face anyway. "Whadda gonna do taday?"

"I'm gettin' meself a nice big piece a meat somewheres," Crutchy said happily, positioning his papers under his free arm.

"Where's dat?" Mush asked.

"Somewheres," Crutchy repeated with a shrug.

"Ya're bettin on meat butcha don' know wheres ya gonna get it," Skittery snarled. His mood was almost as bad as Oscar and Morris's. "Good, Crutch, _real _good."

"'S called _hope_, Skitts," Jack said seriously, his usual hundred papers under his arm.

"Whatever," Skittery growled, pushing past them out into the streets. As usual, the streets were practically deserted save for the other child workers out hoping for a living. "Hope," Skittery said, shaking his head. "Waste a time."

He walked aimlessly around the shopping district, but most stores were closed. Of the few that were open, the managers spoke little or no English, so trying to sell them a paper was pointless. By the time the afternoon edition was ready and waiting, Skittery sold only two papers (true to his word, he hadn't been able to buy any of that morning's edition due to Race's "robbery." He contented himself to selling yesterday's paper, hoping that nobody would notice).

When the clock struck noon, Skittery knew that the other boys would be meeting at _Tibby's_, but he decided not to go. He didn't have money to buy papers, and he didn't have money to buy lunch.

"Happy Thanksgiving," he mumbled sarcastically to himself.

Throughout the rest of the day, he tried desperately to sell more papers; yesterday's evening news turned miraculously into the Thanksgiving day afternoon and then evening editions of the New York World. If someone caught him on it, Skittery figured he'd either preach about the inefficiency of Mr. Hearst (best not to turn customers from _his_ newspaper) or he'd run for it.

By nine o'clock, he had only made enough to pay for his night at the Lodging House. "Dammit…" he muttered, staring at the five pennies. _I gotta sell some papes tomorrow, I can' spend it on sleepin…_ Just when he'd decided to find a warm alley to stay in, he suddenly found his feet charging towards the Lodging House. Despite the fact that he needed the money for work and not a bed, he continued on. _What da hell am I doin?_ he wondered, yet he still walked to the house. _Maybe I'll just beg Klopp ta let me go dis once. He's done it for some a da others…_

He was already talking when he opened the door. "Look, Klopp, I know I said I'd never, but jus dis once can ya let it pass? I promise ta pay ya back; I ain' like Race-"

Kloppman seemed to be holding back laughter, something that made Skittery stop dead. "Why yous laughin, Klopp? It ain' funny."

"'S fine, Skittery, jus gimme a penny an go on upstairs."

"Thanks," he muttered, painfully separating himself from his hard earned penny. "'Night."

He trudged up the stairs, not at all looking forward to the usual wild ruckus that awaited him. He pushed open the door with a sigh and made the usual trek to his bunk, until he realized that it wasn't there.

"What da hell now…" Skittery stopped in mid-protest. Mush could barely contain his laughter as Skittery, wild-eyed, surveyed the room in front of him.

All of the bunks had been pushed aside haphazardly to create a large clearing in the center of the room. The newsies – all of them – were seated in a circle around a carefully made and placed fire (out of unsold newspapers, no doubt). But that wasn't what caused Skittery's mouth to fall open. Around the fire was a gloriously large turkey (large, at least, to the starving newsies) and several other kinds of foods.

"Ain' it da most food ya ever saw, Skitts?" Mush said excitedly.

"I can' remember ever seein dis much!" Blink said, staring.

"Wanna seat, Skitts?" Race asked with a smile.

"How…?" Skittery began.

"We pulled our money," Jack explained, moving over and creating him a place. "We didn' eat no lunch, an we all went down tad a harbor where dey's got da cheapest food, an bought ourselves a turkey."

"Dat ting…it's huge…" Skittery blinked, unable to believe it. "Ya…ya sure dat ain' Tumbler?"

This elicited a big laugh. "C'mon, Skittery," they all laughed, and Skittery, moving to take his place beside Jack, couldn't contain the wide smile that broke out over his face.

"So he _does_ have a heart!" Racetrack laughed as Jack set about cutting the turkey.

"Shut it if ya wanna keep it, Race," Skittery said, but the smile remained.

"So, who's hungry?" Jack asked, and the Lodging House practically shook with shouts of "I AM!"

Skittery's eyes followed Jack as he passed around the turkey, taking in each newsie. Who was he kidding? He had a hell of a lot to be thankful for.

"Dat tears in ya eye, Kid?" Race mocked.

"NO! Dey're from ya damn fire, Race! I gotta piece a pape in my eye!"

Skittery bit into his piece, glancing back up at the others. Yeah, he had a lot to be thankful for, but he knew he'd never admit it to them.


End file.
